The Twilight Zone
by Five Dollar Mixtape
Summary: There is a fifth dimension, beyond that which is known to man — as vast as space and as timeless as infinity; the middle ground between light and shadow, science and superstition; it lies between the pit of man's fears and the summit of his knowledge; the dimension of imagination. (Essentially, a series of Warriors one-shots inspired by The Twilight Zone)


They said that there was once a second Clan that lived along the Thunderpath.

Proud and hardy, this Clan didn't believe in the evil that the other knew was there. They mocked and laughed at their fear, they taunted the creatures they didn't even know surrounded them. _Fools,_ the oldest cat in the remaining Clan would later murmur under his breath, old and senile and not completely aware that he could be heard by any visitors or denmates, _they didn't know what they were doing to themselves._

They were picked off, one by one, until only a kit and her mother remained. By the time the queen had realized what had happened, what had done this to her beloved Clan, there was only one way for her to save herself and to continue the bloodline of her cats; something she'd do by attempting to join her neighboring Clan.

The Thunderpath demanded a sacrifice, she knew, and she gave one.

She said her kit had screamed. She said her kit had let out a gurgling wail before she finally went silent. She said her remains had been flung back at her, like a kit tired of playing with their mossball — like an _insult_.

Needless to say, she had been accepted into the fold.

* * *

The forest was dark, despite the early hour. He was only on his second day of training, but he knew better than to make too much noise, and he was careful to watch his step to make sure that he wasn't stepping on any fallen leaves or twigs liable to be crushed or snap under his weight. They padded through the woods like they were nothing more than shadows, though there was a noticeable gap between the two cats that just kept growing.

The older tom paused, turning his head to look over his shoulder, giving his apprentice a sharp look with amber eyes that nearly made him freeze. If it wasn't for that bit of color, the younger cat might have thought that he was made purely of Shadows, dark as his fur was. "Keep up, will you?" the tom asked, his voice only just loud enough to be heard.

"I'm _trying_, Shaderunner," he responded — it wasn't _his_ fault he was so worn out. If anything, it was his mentor's. Who decided to do battle training on an apprentice's first day? Still, he bit his tongue, carefully not saying what he wanted to say so desperately.

"Not hard enough," Shaderunner meowed, flicking his tail behind him, narrowing his eyes. "But I suppose we could take a rest."

The apprentice nearly sagged with relief as he sat down, his sore pads screaming with relief.

"We're going to see the Thunderpath next," Shaderunner told him. Instantly, it felt like all traces of relief deserted him. "I assume you already know what we say about the Thunderpath and its monsters?"

He nodded his head. "They want more than death," he recited.

The warrior returned his nod, something akin to approval in the action. "Good. And what do we say about the Shadows?"

"They hide all danger."

"Good," Shaderunner repeated, nodding once more. "You're not as helpless at stories as you are at fighting, at least."

His ears flattened against his head, and he glared up at his mentor. "I'll get better," he defended.

"We can only hope." The tom flicked his tail behind him. "Let's go."

"What?" the apprentice asked, eyes rounding. "But we just sat down!"

"If you have the energy to complain, you have the energy to walk."

Shaderunner turned and padded forward, leaving the younger to scramble to his paws and hurry after him. It took him a few moments to catch up with the much faster and older tom, and more effort to stay quiet while doing so.

Eventually, the two emerged from the trees and found themselves standing in front of the Thunderpath. The apprentice's nose wrinkled at the stench rolling off of the tar in front of him, and the fur along his spine rose with apprehension. He looked both ways nervously, watching as the path stretched forward for what seemed like forever. Cracks spread out across the surface of it, as if the territory was trying to break it apart.

So many bad things had happened here. Cats had died here, even ones not part of his Clan. If he thought about it too much, he thought that he could feel the darkness of it seeping into his pelt, but he decided that his mind was just playing tricks on him — he'd had six moons to let fear of the Thunderpath build up, after all.

"Go," Shaderunner ordered, looking down at his apprentice out of the corner of his eye. "Stand in the middle of it."

He stiffened, snapping his head around to look up at him. "What?"

"You heard me." The warrior sat down, curling his tail loosely around his paws. "Take your time." His voice was calm and steady, not the sarcastic tone that the apprentice was coming to expect from him. The younger turned his gaze back to the Thunderpath, taking a deep breath through his mouth and grimacing at the smell it gave off.

The apprentice padded up to the edge slowly and cautiously. Shadows played at the edges of his vision, making the tar look so much more dark than it already was. He could hear a roar heading towards him, and the Thunderpath began to rumble. The bright eyes of a monster sped towards him, its shiny body and large black paws coming into view. It sped past him, ruffling his fur with a gust of stinking wind it created.

He looked back at his mentor. "Do I have to?"

Shaderunner nodded. "If we don't show that we're stronger than our fear of it, then the Thunderpath ad the Shadows will use it against us."

The young tom took another deep breath before looking back at the Thunderpath. he nervously placed a paw on the tar — it felt hot to the touch and rough under his paw. He padded forward, his ears perked and eyes flicking in every direction. He stopped at the faded, dotted white line running through the center.

He felt anger, but it wasn't his own. It was radiating off of the tar beneath him and slithering out of the Shadows that surrounded him. Frustration was slipping under his paws, dismay was creeping up his fur. He shuddered at the feelings projected at him, making him feel suffocated — making him feel threatened.

"You can come back now," Shaderunner called, then he demanded, "Slowly."

He turned, padding off of the Thunderpath despite how much he wanted to sprint. He let out a sigh once his paws touched soft earth, his body sagging with relief. The warrior nodded his head in approval.

"Good job, Dustpaw," he praised, his head inclined and staring at his apprentice down his muzzle.

* * *

It was raining when they got back to camp. Water poured down from the sky in buckets, weighing down Dustpaw's pelt. Another apprentice padded up to him through the heavy downpour before he had the chance to flee Shaderunner, ignoring the water that dampened her pelt.

"Dustpaw!" she greeted with a purr.

"Hi, Bushpaw," he returned.

Despite being siblings, the two didn't look very similar. Dustpaw's pelt was a solid gray and his fur was short, whereas Bushpaw's fur was longer and her pelt was tortoiseshell-and-white. Their only similarity was that they both had amber eyes, and even then the tom's were slightly lighter in shade than the she-cat's.

"How was training?" Bushpaw questioned eagerly. "Snowpelt took me out hunting."

"I went to the Thunderpath."

The she-cat shuddered. "I saw that yesterday," she told him. "Isn't it horrible?"

Fear pressed in on him from all sides, threatening in every way possible. Dustpaw watched as his sister's eyes went wide, as her mouth opened and closed, as she swallowed.

Shaderunner narrowed his eyes at her. "You know what happens if you speak about it like that, Bushpaw," he chided.

Bushpaw's eyes snapped towards a Shadow near them, then she turned her attention back to her brother's mentor. "I'm sorry! I'll bring it prey tomorrow!"

He shook his head. "Bring it prey _now_. Something fresh-caught."

"Yes, Shaderunner!" Bushpaw chorused, voice was high-pitched with fear. She brushed past her brother and rushed out of camp.

Dustpaw tilted his head after her, concern on his face. "She didn't bring anything with her," he meowed.

"She's going to hunt," Shaderunner told him. "You'll be learning that tomorrow. Get something to eat, then go rest. I want you awake at dawn."

He nodded, but he didn't offer him the same respect his sister had.

* * *

Bushpaw looked exhausted.

Her pelt was tangled, her paws covered with mud, and her ears and tail drooped. Dustpaw summoned her with a flick of his tail from his place at the edge of camp, pushing the vole he was eating towards her when she approached.

"What did Snowpelt have you do today?" he asked.

"Battle training," she answered, lying down in front of her brother and taking a bite out of the now-shared meal. "She wants me to learn a move that we're not supposed to learn until after we take our first assessment!"

Dustpaw's ears drooped. "Our mentors have been training us so hard," he complained. "Everyone else talks about how nice their mentors were!"

Bushpaw nodded her agreement. "Yeah, what's so different about us?"

The tom shrugged his shoulders. "I've got no idea."

The she-cat looked from side to side, searching for cats in earshot, before gluing her eyes back onto Dustpaw. "You know…" she whispered, "I heard Clawstar talking about the Thunderpath. He said that it's been getting hungrier."

Dustpaw's hackles rose. "We're not supposed to talk about that, Bushpaw!" he hissed.

The tortoiseshell carelessly shrugged her shoulders. "I can take it prey once I'm done here. Just let me talk, and they won't be mad at you."

"I can't—"

"It's _fine_, Dustpaw," Bushpaw told him, and Dustpaw had to bite back the irritation he felt at being cut off, at not being listened to. "The Thunderpath and monsters and Shadows are probably used to me by now," she joked.

He didn't laugh.

The she-cat pushed herself into a sitting position, quickly wolfing down the rest of the vole before continuing. "Anyways, Clawstar said that it's a threat to the whole Clan, so we all have to be prepared." Her eyes narrowed, and a scowl appeared on her face. "If you ask me, we should just find a way to get rid of the Thunderpath."

Fear pressed in on him from all sides, threatening him in every way possible. Dustpaw watched as his sister's eyes went wide, as her eyes flicked towards a nearby Shadow.

"I'm — uh, I'm going hunting," she informed him in a rushed manner. "I don't think I'll bring anything back."

He nodded. "Good luck."

Bushpaw nodded, standing and bounding towards the entrance of camp. Dustpaw watched as the tip of her tail flicked before disappearing, and once she was out of sight, he rose to his paws and padded towards the apprentices' den.

* * *

Dustpaw panted, his head held low and his ears flat. He felt battered and sore, his pelt mussed and covered in dirt from the sparring session with his mentor. Shaderunner stood in front of him, his fur barely even ruffled. He inclined his head, looking down his muzzle smugly at his apprentice.

"You can do better," he mewed, as if it was that simple.

With a growl, Dustpaw rushed forward. He leapt into the air, his paws extended and ready to land on his mentor's shoulders. Shaderunner swiftly moved out from under him, making the apprentice land on the patch of earth he had been standing on a moment before. He felt a large weight on his back, making him collapse under it. His chin slammed into the ground roughly, and he let out a groan from the force.

Shaderunner sighed, getting off of Dustpaw and allowing him to get to his paws. He did, frustration rushing through him at yet another loss to his mentor. "What did you do wrong?"

_Fight you_, Dustpaw thought with an irritated lash of his tail. "I wasn't fast enough," he answered instead.

Shaderunner nodded. "Exactly," he meowed. "We'll work on it. Let's try again, this time—"

The apprentice shook out his pelt, and he gave the warrior a glare that made him pause. "Just to lose again?" he growled. "No thanks."

"Losing is a part of learning to win," Shaderunner told him.

"I don't care! Everytime I lose you act disappointed, like I'm supposed to beat you even though I've only been in training for a moon!" Dustpaw could feel his fur fluffing up in his anger, his tail lashing from side to side behind him swiftly. "I don't _care_ what you think I have to learn! I hope you end up on the damn Thunderpath, and I hope the damn Shadows get to you, too!"

Fear pressed in on him from all sides, threatening him in every way possible. It nearly choked him with how strong it was, and he was instantly aware of the way that the Shadows lurked in the clearing, taunting him. His eyes darted to one of them as if that would alleviate the fear, but that only made it worse, and he swallowed roughly.

When he looked back at Shaderunner, he appeared shocked at his outburst. It was a lot to take in, especially for a tom that was usually so emotionless and through the terror that he was currently experiencing.

"I'm sorry," he managed to get out. "I didn't mean—"

"Go hunting, Dustpaw," Shaderunner ordered. "Catch something for both of them. I hope you don't bring anything back to camp."

Without any arguments, Dustpaw turned and ran.

* * *

The ceremony demanded that Dustpaw padded along the dotted line at the center of the Thunderpath, and ignore all of the monsters that approached him. The Shadows played at the edges of his vision, but he did his best to ignore them and focus on padding in a straight line, and not to drop the vole and mouse he'd caught. Anger and frustration padded at his side as invisible creatures emerging from the hot tar, and dismay tugged at his pelt as he went like an imitation of a playful kit during a badger ride. A twisted kind of satisfaction hung over him, making him repress shudders as he went. Every once in a while, he could hear breathy, quiet laughter that ruffled his ear fur, and once he heard a muffled scream from a nearby Shadow.

_She showed no emotion,_ the elders' tale went. _She padded along the dotted line as if it were truly a part of her territory, then turned into a part of the Thunderpath that even the monsters were afraid to go with her head held high._

Once, Dustpaw had questioned the story, calling it pointless and mouse-brained. Stories were supposed to be fiction, made to teach a moral. History taught no morals, so he felt no need to heed the lesson in the tale of the forgotten cats. Now, it was the only guide he had, and he clung to it like a drowning cat to a piece of driftwood.

Dustpaw paused for a heartbeat as the Thunderpath curved in two seperate directions, one that was open and the other blocked off by metal barriers. The apprentice padded towards the blocked-off part, ducking his head under the lowest metal bar. The Shadows here were darker, Dustpaw noted, and they covered all of the Thunderpath. Only a few gaps in the tree branches above him allowed the light of the dying sun to paint the tar orange. Despite the color, the young tom couldn't stop himself from thinking of blood as he padded past the patches of light.

The feelings that weren't his own grew stronger as he approached a large hole in the tar, the edges of the hole crumbling. He stopped at the edge and looked down into the darkness — darker than the Thunderpath and the Shadows combined. He could hear something moving beneath him. For a moment, when the wind blew and allowed light to enter the hole, he could see orange light reflecting back at him; as if he was looking at something covered in dark scales. The hunger here was nearly insatiable, nearly suffocating him.

Dustpaw dropped the prey he had caught into the hole — the twisted satisfaction that hung over him doubled, overwhelming him, before the anger and frustration and dismay disappeared, leaving only the hunger and satisfaction behind. The apprentice dipped his head, touching his nose to the crumbling tar.

"I am honored to receive your forgiveness," he meowed, his loud and clear voice echoing through the dark space. Sharp, disembodied laughter surrounded him for a long moment before it cut itself off.

Dustpaw lifted his head, swallowing nervously before he turned, trotting off of the Thunderpath as calmly as he could. Once he paws touched soft soil, he began to sprint back to camp. He watched as the light around him grew brighter and the trees passed him in a blue, but he kept going — he just wanted to be in his den, filled with the sounds of his fellow apprentices.

The young tom barely even noticed when he emerged into camp. He turned his head, seeing Bushpaw sitting in front of the apprentices' den with a worried look on her face and Shaderunner pacing in front of her. They both turned their heads to look at him when he entered, and the warrior bounded up to him, a look of relief on his face but concern in his narrowed eyes.

"You're back already?" he asked.

"I ran back," Dustpaw explained.

The black tom nodded. "I'm… glad you're alright," he mewed awkwardly, after a few moments of just-as-awkward silence.

Dustpaw offered his mentor a small, if tired, smile. "I am, too," he responded cheekily. Shaderunner flicked one of his ears — whether it was in annoyance or something else, the apprentice didn't know and he didn't care much at the moment.

"Hey, Dustpaw!" Bushpaw called from the apprentices' den. "C'mon, you look like you're gonna drop dead right there!"

"What are you, my mother?" There was more bite to his tone than he wanted to acknowledge.

"Just get some sleep, _Deadpaw_," the she-cat teased, ginning.

"She's right," Shaderunner agreed with a flick of his tail. "Go get some sleep. I'll come wake you up tomorrow."

Dustpaw dipped his head to the warrior, then bounded towards his sister and disappeared into one of the only places in the territory where the Shadows didn't feel dangerous. Still, his dreams that night were full of the chilling laughs and shrill screams they were so fond of making.

* * *

The fur along Dustpaw's spine rose, and fear prickled at his pelt. He stared into the darkest part of the rest, his eyes wide with the terror that he was trying so hard to ignore.

"I have to?" he asked.

"You have to," Shaderunner agreed from his place next to him. "It's tradition. After you, it will be Bushpaw's turn."

"Do you think I'm ready?"

"I know you're ready." The warrior angled his head up to look at the sky, then he looked down at the Shadows that covered the ground. "You'd better go. It's almost sunhigh."

Dustpaw sucked in a slow, deep breath. "I'll see you in a quarter moon," he meowed.

"You'd better."

Without giving himself the time to reconsider, Dustpaw padded deeper into the Shadows' grasp.

* * *

In some ways, it wasn't as bad as the Thunderpath. He felt no feelings that weren't really his, and he decided that that was something good.

But he heard screams and laughter and he could see flashes of shapes being dragged away out of the corner of his eye — cats that were unlucky enough to be caught by the Shadows, to not be in their favor like the Clan cats were. He was supposed to ignore all of that; he knew that the shapes were illusions or just old cats that the Shadows had decided to play with, that the cries were just echoes of their favorite sounds, the laughter was just their joy — joy that sent shivers down Dustpaw's spine and echoed in his nightmares.

The stories said that the tradition used to last for a full moon instead of a quarter moon, but that ended when cats returned with their minds in pieces instead of intact. Still, cats that returned needed a moon-long recovery period in camp before they'd be back to their normal selves. It was another sacrifice that the Thunderpath demanded of their Clan.

Step one, Shaderunner had taught him, find shelter.

Dustpaw didn't want to be on the ground, so instead he turned to the skies. The branches of the trees were gnarled and old, so he knew that they must have been sturdy enough for him to sleep in. He padded up to the closest tree, leaping onto its trunk and digging his claws into its bark. He pulled himself upwards, all the way up to a branch that he could lounge on.

He was hungry, and he did his best to ignore it. There was a screech from a bird in the distance that sounded too close for comfort. He took in a deep breath and tried to sleep, but sleep wouldn't come.

Dustpaw thought of the stories he'd been told as a kit of the tradition, how once cats took the assessments together, but them they stopped coming back together and they were forced to go alone. About how cats came back raving about scaled creatures that were too big to fit through the trees but did anyways, and it took them moons to recover before they continued with their training.

The apprentice took a deep breath. At least, at the end of this, he'd be one step closer to being a warrior. He heard a cat's scream in the distance and he covered his ears with his paws.

Step two, Shaderunner had taught him, sleep. Step three, find prey. The fourth and final step, stay calm. Dustpaw was failing at all of them. His own survival was supposed to be his priority, and the realization that he couldn't do even that was horrifying.

He wasn't sure when he'd managed to fall asleep, but when he did it was at the thought of elders' stories. Something that he found surprising, as he'd never been comforted or even bored by them before — history taught no morals, true, but that didn't mean it wasn't entertaining, especially depending on which cat was telling the story.

When he woke the next morning, it was to a screech that almost sent him falling off of the branch of the tree he'd settled on. His claws dug into the bark so hard that he was afraid that if he tried to tug them out, he'd rip them off instead, and the force dragging him down didn't help. Thankfully, he found that wasn't the case.

He made his way down to the ground and set about finding himself something to eat and did his best to stay calm, even as a Shadow behind him screamed, long and loud.

* * *

Somehow, he kept ending up at the Thunderpath. It was the last place he wanted to be, but he was there anyways. Even when he was sure that he was heading in the other direction, eventually, the treeline would come into view and the strip of cracked tar would be in front of him.

Dustpaw was aware that he didn't know this part of the territory very well, if at all, but he was positive that he shouldn't be constantly led back _here_.

And he was also sure that the oh-so-_hungry_ feeling he was getting from it was just his mind playing tricks on him.

Besides, he had more important things to worry about, like finding food and reminding himself that to drink whenever he passed a stream. How long had he even been here? Longer than a day, that was for sure, but how much longer? Time was so hard to keep track of when he was surrounded by Shadows, taunted by their screams and their laughs, dragged back to the Thunderpath with every step he took. For all he knew, he could have been there for a moon.

He felt like there was something tugging at his fur whenever he was resting in the trees, pulling him back in whatever direction he had come from. He never found it hard to sleep through it, even though his dreams were plagued with visions of the Shadows rising from the ground, digging into his fur with teeth and claws they didn't have and dragging him away.

He decided he didn't want to know where he was being dragged to.

He found out anyways.

* * *

It felt like everywhere Dustpaw looked, the Thunderpath was there.

And the Shadows were dragging him towards it.

And he could feel its hunger, no matter how much he wanted to pretend otherwise.

He could take a hint. So he caught himself a squirrel and made his way back to the Thunderpath. The first thing he noted once he stepped onto the tar was that, aside from the hunger, he felt _welcomed_. That scared him more than any anger or frustration or dismay he could have been feeling.

_It's just happy I listened,_ Dustpaw told himself, giving himself a small nod of his head as he padded along the center of the Thunderpath. _That's all._

As if it being _happy_ was any better.

The walk to the hole was the longest walk of his life, and he didn't pause for any formalities before he dropped the squirrel into the hole. He could feel the way that the fur on his tail stood on end and his hackles were raised, and he wished more than anything to sprint back into the woods and live the rest of the quarter-moon — however long that was — in peace.

He heard something under him shift, saw a glint of dark scales. He moved to dip his head to the crumbling tar at the edge of the hole, but he had no words to say; no forgiveness was needed and no apology had been offered. Then he felt something beneath him shift, and before he could even begin to comprehend that, the ground fell out from underneath him.

He could feel something crack in his side and one of his forelegs when he landed, but he was too scared to make any noise that might attract any attention to him, as if that would make whatever was down there (with him, oh StarClan, _with him_) ignore him.

It didn't.

He saw the dark, scaled thing slither towards him, and he couldn't hold in a whimper.

Dustpaw screamed.

And the Thunderpath's hunger was finally satisfied.

* * *

**i have decided that the Warriors fandom is lacking in horror. i have decided that this is an error, and it needs to be fixed. if you like this and want to see more, tell me about it :D**

**anyways, happy Halloween!**


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